


The Prisoner's Dilemma

by vaarsuvius



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Gen, One-Sided Attraction, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 19:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13107210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaarsuvius/pseuds/vaarsuvius
Summary: Despite what some might tell you, Ouma Kokichi is only human.Contains descriptions of self-harm, please don't read this if that bothers you in any way. Set during chapter 4, spoilers up through chapter 5.





	The Prisoner's Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

> Second warning for explicit self-harm content. I'm dead serious, as someone who self-harms, don't read this if you think it might trigger you. Stay safe, much love, and enjoy the fic if you still want to read it.

Ouma worries he’s going to run out of space.

It’s been less than a week in this so-called Killing Game and he’s run out of room on his left thigh already. He always cuts shallow; tight lines into scabs into skin that’s smooth again for plausible deniability. He’s not sure how much longer he’s going to be able to stick to that.

It’s always been there, the urge to cut deeper. Like a test, to see how much he can take. Like a punishment, to lighten the guilt. Like a cry for help, like something he’ll never be able to lie about again. Lately he’s been assaulted with intrusive thoughts (fantasies?) of Saihara catching him. He can’t stop himself from thinking about what Saihara might do if he found him like this, or if--and the thought makes his breath catch--if somehow Saihara found his scars. Would he be able to lie his way out of it? Would Saihara unravel him in the end?

Ouma wants to retch. He wants so badly for Saihara to catch him it makes him sick. He’s sick. He’s already hurt himself on purpose in front of Saihara once and spent all the breathless, heady time he could possibly ask for having the boy bandage his hand. He didn’t even deserve that once, let alone twice. And it’s not like it’s guaranteed Saihara will even care. If he’s too distracted, too busy, too wrapped up in more important things… Ouma knows he’s not Saihara’s first choice. He’s not anyone’s first choice. By design, he tells himself.

This isn’t a game you win by getting people to like you. It isn’t a game you can win by trusting people. It’s the classic prisoner’s dilemma--the only possible choice is to betray. Basic game theory. Anyone who doesn't know that is an idiot. Anyone who trusts is an idiot. Ouma Kokichi is not an idiot. Even people like Saihara will turn in the end--whoever’s running this game will make sure of it. Ouma’s betting his life on it.

Rather, he  _ was  _ betting his life on it. Now there are two more in the pot, if everything goes to plan. The secret of the outside world, the secret of the world inside the computer on the fourth floor. How many secrets are they all wrapped up in now? All of it feels so off. Nothing adds up. But there’s nothing to do but press forward with what few tools he has. He has no other choice.

Gonta’s seen his cuts. The boy is more perceptive than Ouma gives him credit for, and just by chance he sees some blood seeping through his pants that Ouma hadn’t even noticed. Gonta seems ready to strip off Ouma’s pants if he has to, but Ouma reassures him that it’s fine, he just fell, and actually I think I saw some of those tiny bugs near the boiler room, so why don’t you check those out while I clean this up? Gonta can’t help himself. He really, really can’t. He believes him like he always does and runs off, sparing one look of naked worry behind him before sprinting away.

That was 20 minutes ago. The look in Gonta’s eyes lingers like it’s been seared into Ouma’s brain. There’s still time to stop the plan. All he has to do is convince everyone not to go into the computer. He could even break it--he could get  _ Gonta  _ to break it. How poetic that would be. Surely there’s another way. A way that doesn’t involve manipulating people into killing each other. Gonta believes in him. Saihara might believe in him, given enough time. And with Saihara would come the others, someday.

Trust met with trust gives the best outcome. If he had time. If the wheels hadn’t already been set in motion. If he could start over. He has to believe he could have done it the right way. But the existence of that trust-trust ending is in itself a deceit, bait placed there to trick people into being betrayed. It’s just like every other lie in this godforsaken place. There’s no time left to think about it. He’s already told Monokuma to put the motive into the game. There’s no way Saihara will let the secret of the outside world slip through his fingers. He still thinks there’s a way to save everyone.

Saihara forces his way into his mind again and Ouma’s hand slips, cutting a wide gash across his leg. The blade slips out of his fingers and falls to the floor as he presses his hands over the wound instinctively, breath unsteady. Too bad Toujou isn’t around anymore to wash his sheets. He’s already set out bandages and disinfectant on his bedside table, but it’s too late to hope that this won’t leave a scar.

It’s fine. If--no,  _ when  _ everything plays out, it won’t matter. Once everything is said and done, no one will care even if Ouma Kokichi bleeds out in front of them. In a few hours Iruma is going to ask everyone up to the computer room. In a few hours more even Saihara will want him dead. It’s fine. If Ouma is honest with himself for once, this was never going to go any other way. He takes a new blade out of the package on the bedside table and pulls back his sleeve. This is all someone like him can do. This is the only apology he’ll ever be able to give in a game like this.

He fantasizes about dying, about Saihara finding the scars on his body--the only way the detective will ever touch him again after tonight. Maybe he’ll be able to figure it out. Ouma watches the clock tick down until Iruma’s meeting time and thinks about Saihara’s hands on his corpse as he scores his arm and tries to cut the regret out of himself, piece by piece.


End file.
